Drunken mishaps and common ground
by Headwig1010
Summary: After a drunk magical mishap russia is given an unexpected invite to England's 4th of july "celebrations" but will the two nations find common ground as both have loved and lost. re-edited


"alw i mi cythraul o uffern i pla yr un sy'n achosi gofid fy

gadael iddo rue y diwrnod y bu erioed brifo fi"* the ancient words reverberated of the rough, stone walls filling the air with magic. As the spell continued the voice grew louder and more frantic. The light filling the room was blinding but the caster did not care as after hundreds of years he was used to it.

At the climax of the spell the strange circle symbol started to glow fiercely with a blue hue. Out of the centre of the circle rose a sliver haired man looking extremely annoyed.

"privet Velikobritanii" came the deep timber of the Russian man who had just risen out from the floor. "oh shit" came the rather shriller voice of the very drunk, very pissed English man.

"w-what ur doin' ere ur bloudy russki" the drunk England slurred while pointing (a very unstable) arm at the Russian man. "you tell me comrade" Russia said with his face the very picture of childish innocence but his eyes and the air around him was ablaze.

"I-I was err" England didn't get any further as he had collapsed, his head hitting the flagstone floor with a sicking thump. "well that was rude"

Russia carefully bent down next to England childish curiosity on his face.

The man stank of alcohol and even Russia who was a hardener drinker

felt a little nauseas at the smell. "gods comrade what have you been drinking"

Russia started down at the unconscious man laying at his feet.

Normally Russia would have left him there but he was curious as to why England had been drinking so heavily _probably got rejected by the capalist pig _Russia thought, then it clicked.

Today was the 4th of July hardly a popular day in either Russia's or England's calendar. Russia didn't like the day because he hated anything the made the capalist pig happy and England because, because Russia realised with a pang it was the day America had left him.

Russia sighed he knew he should leave the man there but a small part of Russia connected with the man. Hadn't he done the same thing when the soviet union fell.

Knowing he would regret this later he scooped the English man into his arms and carried him up the stairs. Russia eased the bed room door open with his foot and rather unceremoniously dumped England on his bed.

Glaring at the unconscious nation Russia left the room _he'd better have some vodka. _

England's house wasn't very large especially compared to Russia's so he soon found England alcohol cabinet. It was half empty many of the bottles had been drunk but at the back was a lonely vodka bottle. It wasn't Russia's favourite but it would do. _So it seems he has some taste buds after all _

Wondering around the corridor Russia peered into the living room. It was a complete mess about 20 empty bottles lined a pit on the floor were

England had no doubt been attempting drinking himself into a coma.

Russia walking into the room having to duck slightly because of the low ceiling. Wading though the bottles Russia saw a strip of red. A curious scarred hand reached down and picked it up.

It was a uniform, a very old worn uniform but still a bright shade of red. Russia recognised it as the British army uniform during the American revolutionary war.

Russia's heart ached slightly for the Englishman he knew what it felt like to lose family members. Russia carefully folded the jacket and placed on a empty table.

_How long has he been doing this? _Russia thought after the USSR fell his sisters had helped him recover (manly Ukraine he had often hid from Belarus) But England had no one. Russia thought his pride had stopped him from telling anyone.

Russia knew that he should just leave the drunken man but Russia couldn't bring himself to. He wasn't on partially friendly terms with the English man but no one (apart from America) deserved to do this to themselves.

Russia walked into the kitchen which looked worn from years of abuse _poor thing _Russia thought _all that "cooking" England must of done in here _Russia shuddered at the thought of England's cooking it struck fear into the heart of every nation.

Carefully making his way around the kitchen Russia peered in the desolate looking cabernets searching for medicine for the apocalyptic hangover the brit would undoubtedly have tomorrow.

After collecting the supplies Russia quietly made his way up the short oak stairs into England's bedroom. Said man was laid spread eagle across the bed, snoring _very ungentlemanly _Russia thought.

While depositing his supplies on the bed side table Russia saw a tear trickling down England's cheek. Before he could stop him self he had wiped the tear away. As his startled hand rested against England's cheek the man keened into the touch like a cat. This made Russia smile slightly the man looked kind of cute when he was asleep.

Still smiling Russia retracted his hand and quietly exited the room. Carefully making his way down the narrow hall. Russia found the empty guest room. The air in the room felt stale _probably never been used _Russia thought_. _The brit was hardly famed for his hospitality.

The room it's self was pretty bare. The walls were a peeling lime green and the floor was covered in a moth eaten cream carpet. A rickety desk and chair stood forlornly to the side of the room. _Very homely England _Russia thought sarcastically.

Casting as slightly despairing glance around the room Russia eased of his great coat and set it over the back of the chair. The bed creaked ominously but held the Russian's weight. Tucking himself in Russia fell asleep wondering about what the morning would bring.

a/n ok re-edited now and proof read but if you see any mistakes please tell me. This story was a request from balviet123 and was longer than I thought but will be finished eventually hope you like it now I've (hopefully) ironed out the mistakes.

* call me a demon from hell to plague the one that upset me let him rue the day he ever hurt me (welsh)


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